One For Sorrow
by watermelyn
Summary: Inspired by an old English rhyme. Dramione.


One for sorrow, two for joy

_Three for a girl, four for a boy_

_Five for silver, six for gold_

_Seven for a secret, never been told_

_-Old English Rhyme_

Sorrow? Draco knows all about sorrow. And pain. They often go hand in hand, he's found. Sorrow when his grandmother Malfoy died; he was only five. He didn't understand about vendettas and Death Eaters then. Pain when his mother did explain it to him, three years later. Sadness and hurt when his father, the powerful and pureblooded Lucius Malfoy, forbade him from going to Blaise Zabini's house for tea, all because Blaise's mother had married a muggleborn man. Draco couldn't have controlled that, but no. Lucius did not want to hear his son's pleading. That was the day Draco realized what it meant to be a Malfoy. One must be dignified at all times and never beg (his cheek stung for hours after his father slapped him), one must think themselves superior to all others and one _must_ despise _ignorant_ mudbloods and _stupid_ half-breeds. Or at least, pretend to. That is another important duty that comes with bearing the Malfoy name : being a good actor. Draco has always excelled in this respect. It is in his blood (pure and blue, without a doubt).

Draco knows much less about joy. He never had a normal childhood, or any childhood at all really. From the moment he learned to speak he was taught to keep his opinions to himself, never to speak out of turn and always act mature. He was never permitted to play with toys or anything of such plebian nature. He never felt happiness like other children. No, instead, Draco was _taught_ when to feel happy, which made it so that his joy was often fake and short-lived. How to insult someone properly was something he learned quickly (from watching his parents and their 'friends'), but simply saying the word 'mudblood' always left him feeling odd and uncomfortable. It stills does, but Draco can somewhat ignore the feeling and insult anybody with the cold air of a proper Malfoy and Slytherin.

Draco never knew games or jokes like other kids did and neither did his friends (though like a true member of Salazar Slytherin's noble house he doesn't trust his friends and he knows that neither do they trust him). Now, Draco is _pleased_ when he gets an O on a Transfiguration essay and is _content_ when his in the common room with Crabbe and Goyle. He enjoys a nice drink or butterbeer or firewhiskey every now and then and he appreciate's Blaise's dry sense of humor. He is never _happy_ or _joyous_ or _gleeful_. The only time Draco is ever truly happy is when he is flying, the wind pushing him along and the stands of the Quidditch pitchs rushing past. Flying makes Draco love life, but that's the only thing.

So Draco knows much more of sorrow and pain than of happinesse. And only now, at 16, is he realizing it.

There is a girl and there is a boy. Two boys, really, but only one truly matters. _He_ came first, before the girl. His name is Harry Potter, and he is of an unsual sort. Unique. It's impossible to describe and understand him completely, though Merlin knows Lucius and Draco have tried. Ignorant; that's for sure. A trouble-maker; yes. Horrible; maybe. He _did_ destroy the Dark Lord (though quite unwillingly) and for that Draco's father hates him with a deep and burning passion. His son has learned to despise him too, has learned to call him names and think him inferior. Potter is Draco arch enemy, and that was decided a year after they were born. And Draco remembers their very first day at Hogwarts when Potter, then just a scared little boy, had foolishly declined Draco's offer of friendship. Because of that, Draco hates the stupid wizard as much as his father. Sometimes he nearly forgets why, but it doesn't matter. Draco is olde rnow; he understands why his family hates Potter, and their reasons mixed in with his own have morphed Draco's hate into pure loathing tinged with unconscious envy.

Hate is a strong emotion, that's another thing Draco has learned.

The other boy, not Potter but the youngest Weasley son, is another person Draco cannot stand. Poor, dirty, dense and a blood-traitor to boot : he and his family are the polar opposite of Draco's rich and honourable one. They are everything Narcissa Malfoy turns her nose at, they are the ones Lucius insults at home. The red-headed Weasel is just there for Draco to make fun of. That pack of feeble gingers mean nothing more to Draco than that.

The girl is different. He doesn't hate her, though he's supposed to. He only pretends to. He never wants to insult her, but Draco has an act to uphold. What kind of Malfoy would he be if he referred to her as 'that pretty Gryffindor' instead of 'that worthless mudblood?' Not a very good one. In fact, his father would probably disown him without a second thought. No, the girl isn't the same as the others. She isn't stupid and superficial like the Hufflepuff girls or untrustworthy and egotistical like the Slytherin ones. She has the best qualities from every house : cunning, hard-working, extremely intelligent and loyal and brave. It's a shame that she is also a muggleborn and Draco must pretend to detest her, because otherwise Lucius would approve.

But her parents are dentists and so Draco must be content with whispering her name to himself, feeling it roll flawlessly off his tongue, 'Her-mi-o-ne,' as if it was meant to be said by Draco. He tries to be better than her in Potions class to get her attention (he'd do it to any other girl he was interested in) but he supposes that to her it probably just seems like he is being mean. He wishes they could have a normal conversation, one where there were no insults or Weasels involved. That's what he wants nearly the most, not to touch her or kiss her or hold (though he may want that very much too), but just to talk to her. An innocent chat about the weather would suffice to make him _happy_. Draco knows that's never going to happen, so he sits back and watches in disgust as the idiot ginger fawns over her like a puppy does his master. A horribly misbehaved puppy, that is.

Sometimes (often) Draco wishes he wasn't who he was. That he could start all over with a new name and a different outlook on life. Maybe he'd be wearing gold instead of silver. Or maybe not, perhaps he'd sport midnight blue robed and so would the girl ('Hermione,' he murmurs to himself). That's what Draco wants above all else : to start over. To forget everything, the years with a cold and cruel Malfoy upbringing and the politics of the worst kind. He wishes he could leave his name begind and everything that comes with it. He'd no longer be a Malfoy or a Black, just a Draco. Maybe then she'd see him differently and the world's opinion about him would change.

None of that will ever happen, Draco knows it, and daydreaming about it only makes the longing worse. He has an image to portray and a lie to uphold. If he says just one thing wrong his whole family will be killed. Despite everything he feels for his mother and father, they're still his parents, and if he has the power to stop it he won't let them die.

So instead of calling her Hermione he'll call her Mudblood and he'll move on with his existence (he won't call it his life if he's not living). He'll sneer at Potter and he'll make fun of the Weasels because he has to. He was born to. When he's alone though, he'll still taste 'Hermione' on his tongue, sometimes adding 'Malfoy' at the end, but he'll never tell. And that's just how it's going to be.


End file.
